


Bounce and Bark

by MrsNoggin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Canine Flatulence, Experimentation, Gen, Yes you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Gladstone is the perfect subject for experimentation. Sometimes not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounce and Bark

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for CookieLou - One-shot about Gladstone farting - including the words 'red' 'bounce' 'Giraffe'. 
> 
> Sometimes I wonder, I really do... But I never back down from a challenge!

“Is that... Gladstone? Good God man! What have you done to the dog?!”

The bulldog, spread out on the floor in front of the fire, heaved his grotesquely distended stomach and let out a belch. It wasn’t much of a greeting. Not that Gladstone was much of a bounce and bark style greeter, more of a waddle and grumble, but still... Watson crouched beside him, running an efficient hand gently over the round belly, feeling the gurgling clearly even through the usual layers of heavy fat and fine fur.

Holmes turned, looking faintly surprised at Watson’s presence. Nothing new there. “Are you familiar with the ruminant species _Giraffe_?”

“Of course. I’m not daft. And don’t attempt to bring about my distraction by means of calling to mind random African mammalians.”

Gladstone rolled a sleepy eye in his owner’s direction, passing some more wind in his direction, though not from his mouth. Watson winced, standing and backing away to escape the foul cloud.

“Watson! Do you think so ill of me?” Holmes sounded offended.

“Yes.”

“That I would do such a thing? Distract you with nonsense?” He even looked offended.

“Yes.”

“Indulge in such blatant...” He appeared so offended he could not even finish his sentence.

“Yes.”

“Oh. That cuts quite deep.” Then he shrugged, losing his distraught face behind a sudden thought and turning back to his table of chaos, searching for something or other under the detritus.

“So? Gladstone?”

He continued rummaging, mumbling in a manner that could have been to himself, but was most likely designed for Watson also. “Research. Data. Acacia. I was researching the nutritional benefits of the giraffe’s diet, which consists in the main of Acacia. Leaves and shoots. So far studies indicate the effects of this plant to include a calming of the digestive system, more often than not eventually resulting in weight loss. Sometimes significant.”

“And you fed it to my dog.”

“ _Our_ dog. Ah-ha!” he triumphantly held up a glass tube containing some dried leaves, stoppered with a cork. “And yes, I did. Even you must admit he is becoming rather rotund. I thought–“

“That is the problem,” Watson interrupted, “You think entirely too much about the wrong things.”

“Well, perhaps in your opinion,” Holmes shrugged and waved it in the air at Watson, obviously intending for him to garner some meaning from its contents. “The point being: such vast quantities of Acacia as Gladstone saw fit to consume – he really is an exceptionally greedy creature – also happen to bring about side effects of rather severe bloating and... er... for lack of a better expression, rather putrid flatulence.”

Watson sighed with exasperation, of the resigned sort, “One day you will be responsible for the death of this dog. And you will never forgive yourself.”

“No, I have to admit I am rather fond of him,” Holmes looked thoughtful. Gladstone looked up in surprise, as if he had understood the unfamiliar sentiment and needed to check the source. Holmes nodded to himself, “And he is very convenient for –“

“Just stop at fond!”

“I shall endeavour to adjust the dosage accordingly next time,” he was scribbling something on a scrap of paper stuck on the side of the container.

“There will be no such _next time_. I forbid it.”

“Forbid, forbid,” Holmes mocked gently, bending to examine the prone animal. He opened Gladstone’s jaw and studied his tongue, lolling hot and red over the ridge of his teeth. “I pronounce him fine.”

“Your fine and mine appear to be markedly different.” Watson drawled, removing his hat and slumping down into an armchair.

“Tea?”

“Not if you’re making it. God himself only knows what will be brewed within.”

Holmes grinned at him, impressed at his foresight. “Mrs Hudson!” He bellowed.

 


End file.
